


take us down and all apart (cherry tree)

by okayantigone



Category: Captive Prince - C. S. Pacat
Genre: M/M, aimeric is jord's sullen gentleman with 20 thousand a year, cherry boi nicaise, orlant of the ox face and horse dick, something something take my cherry daddy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-01-10
Updated: 2019-01-10
Packaged: 2019-10-07 19:47:45
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con, Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,040
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17372174
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/okayantigone/pseuds/okayantigone
Summary: With Jord planning on absconding to the countryside to become Aimeric's kept man, Orlant is pretty much guaranteed the position of Captain of Laurent's Kingsguard, and the raise that comes with it, which means he can finally afford a pet. If only there was a pet in Arles, desperate enough to settle for his ugly ox-face.Enter Nicaise.





	take us down and all apart (cherry tree)

**Author's Note:**

  * For [badaltin](https://archiveofourown.org/users/badaltin/gifts), [winter_hare](https://archiveofourown.org/users/winter_hare/gifts).



> this work goes out to elliott & addie for being horrible, terrible, evil, no good enablers

take us down and all apart, cherry tree

 

It’s a mistake, Orlant thinks. Probably, it’s some sort of mistake, and all he regrets is that he may have to straighten it out. Mistakes like this happen. Probably. But there is gold in his hand, far more gold than there ought to be, for just a soldier of the prince’s guard. He contemplates the weight of the coin pouch when Jord turns behind him, claps him on the shoulder merily. 

“Congratulations on your raise,” he says amiably. Which only stands to mean that it is not, in fact, a mistake. Orlant has never had a lot of money to himself. Granted, being part of the Prince’s Guard – first Auguste’s and then Laurent paid well. Paid reasonably well for him to be comfortable. But he had not been rich as a young man, and so he did not know what to do with the gold he managed to save now, and he certainly didn’t know what to do with the much heavier gold that was apparently the price of Laurent’s ascension to the throne, and the de-facto change of his soldiers to King’s Guard. 

“You too, huh?” Orlant asks instead. Jord shrugs good-naturadly and smiles. 

“I won’t see much use of it. I’ve got an aristocrat in my bed,” he says, self-deprecating. “He’s probably used to nice things. I’m going to give him nice things.” 

His face darkens, ever so subtly. “I’m sorry about – “ 

Orlant waves a hand. “I hope he’s better in bed than he is with a knife,” he says, laughs even, to ease Jord. Aimeric had been a scared, skittish thing. If he’d meant to kill Orlant, he would have, but as it were, he merely incapacitated him for a while. Just enough that he’d be useless. Just enough that he could say he tried. Just enough that Jord couldn’t hate him. 

It had been war. Plain and simple, though no one would admit it, it had been war. Thogh perhaps, it wasn’t what Laurent thought. Perhaps to him it was merely a game, and he’d won. He was content now, on his throne, and with Damianos at his side, his revenge realized. And his soldiers – his soldiers got raises. 

“You know you could stand to buy a pet now,” Jord said. “A pretty one too.” 

Orlant hadn’t thought about it. He hadn’t had many pretty things in his time. He had his father’s silver buttons in a box, and an ivory hair pin his mother had coveted, and given him for luck when he left home – the simple joys of a poor family. There had been men with pets in their town. Merhcnats, who could afford pretty boys to sing and dance for them, and then take them to bed at night. But the pets in Arles wanted more than a foot soldier’s salary. Perhaps, he could have enticed one, if his face was not so… unfortunate. He knew well, that the tavern boys charged him extra, it was easier to entice them if he promised to fuck them from behind so they wouldn’t look at him. 

A soldier didn’t need to be handsome. He was good with his sword and his bow. He thought, when the time came, he’d marry an ugly woman, and they’d have some ugly children to raise well. Maybe send them to school, so they could become ugly merchants and ugly counsellors. It would be a fairly straight-forward journey to that end point. He’d see a tavern wench or a chamber maid, maybe she’d have a scar of some sort, or some blemish. He’d get to the point. Women liked a soldier, always had, and he had the gold he’d saved by being too ugly to buy himself proper whores, and he was not a rough man, nor a man prone to angry outbursts and losing himself in drink. She’d mull over the proposition, accept it, and when it was his time to retire from the guard, they’d go back to his village, where he had had a happy childhood, and have a whole litter of ugly happy children. No stops and dalliances along the way – that was not for him. 

Then again, there was a time they all thought Jord wouldn’t be the man to break on the smiles of a pretty seventh son. 

“A pet?” It sounded good. He’d not thought about having one. But Laurent was King now, and Arles was full of pets who’d recently lost their masters to his purge of the council, and he had a pocket full of gold. 

He walked to Laurent’s doors, to assume his shift at the entrance with that thought in mind.  
Jord had not spoken of it outright, but he was considering resigning his position in the guard. “I’m bedded by a man whose income is twenty thousand gold edgars a year. I will be happy to spend my time as a kept man, and Laurent won’t have to look at either one of our faces.” Or some such. Jord was too honorable for his own good, Orlant always thought. 

Huet nodded at him, and took a step away, to disappear into the kitchens. There was a boy there, with clever fingers, and a full wide mouth, who was sweet on him, and always gave him the cakes that were a little flat, or had too much cocoa and too little sugar in them. He had a bounce in his step as he disappeared down the hall, and was whistling a familiar tune. 

Clearly, the good mood around the castle was infectious. 

Or not, as the raised voice from behind the door filtered through to him. He recognized Laurent – not shouting, certainly, but definitely speaking louder than he usually did, acerbic and cold, although it was hard to make out individual words. The other voice was high – unbroken yet, and raised surreptitiously. 

The door flew open, and Orlant staggered back, coming face to face with the Regent’s pet. Blue eyed and pale skinned, his pretty face pulled angrily. 

“Don’t pretend you weren’t happy to know I was dead, because it was one less loose end to tie up, and now I am here and you don’t know what to do with me. How easily you forget your promises, your Majesty.” 

“That is enough,” Laurent snapped. “I am still your king, so watch your tongue.” 

“Will you cut it out like your Uncle oft threatened to?” 

Laurent raised a hand. Orlant looked between him and the pet. Laurent was shaking, and his pale face was blotchy with fury. He dropped his hand. 

“You would, wouldn’t you, Nicaise continued, furious. His full lower lip was wobbling. “You would forget your promise to me. And you would cast me out, but you know no one would buy me, because of who had my contract before. You have made it impossible for me to be here, and you know it. If I am not your pet, I can’t be any man’s pet. You’d have me disappear into the countryside, like your guardsman and his rich catamite, would you not? I wish you’d just say it plain – “ 

“Nicaise,” Laurent begins. 

“Even your brute of a lover thinks you’re being cruel,” Nicaise says, bitter and cruel. “I’ll figure something out. You know I always do.” 

He turns on his heel and walks away, in the direction of the servants’ exit. His bare feet are pale, but the soles have darkened, cracked. He has slender delicate ankles. 

Orlant turns to Laurent, but his King just drops his shoulders in a sigh. “At ease, soldier,” he waves his hand, and walks back into the room, the door shutting quietly behind him. 

Orlant thinks of the boy’s soft mouth and birdboned hands all through his shift, thinks of his pretty blue eyes, and the rigid weight between his shoulders as he walked away. What a funny little dagger of a boy, even before, when he’d come into Laurent’s chambers in the middle of the night, with bits of whispered gossip he’d heard, and a love of poppy milk and stories he hadn’t yet learned to read. What a dangerous, clever little monster. 

Laurent was too close, and too blind to see what a boy like this could do, imbued with bitterness, and cast out. Laurent was still mourning, still drunk on victory, still – something. And Orlant? Orlant had a pocket full of gold, and the shiny vacancy of Captain of the Guard ahead of him. So when Lazar came to switch him at the door, he walked towards the servants’ entrance, and followed the whispers to the Regent’s boy. 

“I heard you talking to the King,” he said, without preamble. 

Nicaise stiffened. “That was… ugly,” he said finally. 

“Maybe,” Orlant shrugs. “But you were wrong. There’s men in Arles who would buy your contract. I would. If you let me.” 

Those shiny blue eyes go big as saucers. 

“You would?” 

“I know you’re expensive,” Orlant says. “I won’t be able to buy you gifts and trinkets. You won’t get to eat fancy cakes all the time. But I’d buy you.” 

“For how long?” Nicaise asks. There’s a hopeful hunger in him that’s all too painful and Orlant knows it well. The boy had clung to Govart’s hand, limping on his way to Paschal’s quarters, bruises on his thighs and hollow-boned shoulders, and they had all known, and all had looked away. 

“A year?” Orlant said. “And then, if you wanted to, you could offer it to someone else.” 

“A year,” Nicaise muses. “People might forget… in a year.” 

“Or they might not. But I have warm rooms and a large bed, and I can feed you too. I won’t hit you either.” he adds for good measure. 

Nicaise seems to mull it over for a while. “Paschal would buy me,” he says, “to be his apprentice. He said so, but he doesn’t really want to. He feels obliged. And you? What do you feel?”

Orlant shrugs his wide shoulders. “Mostly, that I’d like to bend you over and fuck that attitude out of you.” 

Nicaise startles into a laugh, high and cheery. “Suppose then, my contract is yours,” he says carefully. It’s Orlant’s turn to stare. 

“Just like that?” 

Nicaise lifts one skinny shoulder. “Why not?” 

That night finds Orlant late into the tavern, celebrating his newest investment. He drinks lightly, just to feel the warmth in his belly, and walks to his chamber hot with anticipation. 

The Regent’s – no. His boy is waiting for him, looking a sweet little morsel, draped in a gauzy soft fabric, his skin oh-so tantalizing through the sheer shimmer of it, naked and beautiful. He’s wearing an undergarment that’s tiny and silken, and a bright, bright crimson red, like fresh cherry syrup. Nicaise’s smile is fresh cherry syrup, sweet and sticky, beckoning him. He closes the door behind him. 

“Wanna have a taste, daddy?” he asks sweetly, kneeling up in bed, and his small pink tongue darts out to lick his lips. Of course Orlant wants a taste. 

He sheds his jacket and pulls his shirt out from his tight laced trousers, where his cock is hard and trapped and makes it to the bed in two long strides, putting his hands on the boy’s skinny hips. 

He’s never had many pretty things. So he covets. 

He breathes in the smell of Nicaise’s soft curls – scented oils and pomades from the baths, and noses at his slender neck, the skin supple and sweet. He bites down, experimental, and the boy in his arms gasps so, so sweetly. He pulls away, and swallows that sweet little noise in a kiss. Nicaise’s mouth opens, eager, willing, and Orlant pushes his tongue in. 

Sweet little cherry, he’s so gone on him already. His fingers dig into the boy’s waist, while Nicaise’s slender arms wrap around the expanse of Orlant’s shoulders, nimble fingers digging into the sun-beaten flesh there. 

He comes into the bed, and his knees hitting the mattres feel heavy. Nicaise is small, crowded against the wall and between his thick thighs, looking up at him through long thick lashes. He’s used something to darken them, and his eyes look even bigger. His pupils are blown, the irises just a thin ring of pale icy blue around them, his soft cheeks flushed. 

“You look so pretty,” Orlant says, running a hand through that lovely curled hair. “Did you make yourself pretty, all for me?” 

Nicaise lowers his lashes. “Yes,” he says sweet, breathless. “Do you like it?” 

“I want to tear your pretty underthings off with my teeth,” Orlant says earnestly, and Nicaise’s eyes go even wider. 

He breathes out “Will you buy me new ones after?” 

“I’ll buy you as many flimsy pretty lacy things as you want, little cherry doll.” He slides a hand down low, cups Nicaise’s soft, rounded ass, and the boy keens so, so nicely. Orlant will definitely like exploring all the noises he can bring out of that delicious mouth. 

Nicaise’s eyes flutter closed again, and then he falls back, gracefully, against the bedcovers, his supple soft thighs spreading. Orlant growls low in his throat.  
He pushes the soft gossamer away, baring Nicaise’s body. He lays a kiss to his throat, tender and sweet, and moves down to his bid-like chest, kissing over his small pink nipples, kissing each protruding rib, and down his flat stomach, to his curved hipbones. He kisses lightly over the red silk of Nicaise’s underthings, and then down his soft thigh, nipping playfully at the flesh there. It makes the boy whine sweetly. 

He kisses down a bony knee that would look so lovely bruised from kneeling on the floor, and makes his way to the delicate ankles he’d love to see encased in gold cuffs. Nicaise’s feet are now as soft and supple as the rest of him, his time in the baths well-worth the gold for all the oils and soaps and balsams. 

“So pretty,” Orlant repeats, reverent. “Such a lovely, lovely pet. I’ll take care of you, sweet boy.” 

He kisses his way back up those long legs, and this time, when his lips touch fragile silk, he bites into the fabric, oh so careful. The boy lifts his hips off the bed helpfully, and Orlant slowly bares his prize. 

Nicaise is completely hairless. His small cock is flushes pink, and hard, the tip leaking clear little drops. Orlant presses a kiss there, and the noises Nicaise makes are music to his ears. 

He engulfs the boy’s cocklet in his mouth easily, and Nicaise’s whole body shudders, his hands flying to grip the sheets in a white-knuckled desperation, as Orlant has his taste of his beautiful prize. 

“Daddy,” Nicaise gasps. “Daddy, daddy, daddy – “ 

Orlant pulls back, and he is smiling down at him, Nicaise still whining, trying to press his thighs together. “My delicious little cherry. Try not to come until I say so, pretty dolly.” 

Then his face is between Nicaise’s thighs again, and this time, he feels Orlant lick a broad stripe over his entrance. The older man tongues his hole with as much frevor and enjoyment as he put into kissing Nicaise’s mouth, and it’s difficult to control himself, to keep his hands flat on bed. He can’t stop shaking, and he knows he must be terribly flushed. Orlant pulls away and he whimpers at the loss of contact. 

He looks up at his master through his lashes. Orlant’s thick fingers are working the laces of his throusers, and when his cock is finally free, Nicaise gasps. 

“It’s – you are… so big,” he whispers. 

Orlant chuckles, a deep, entirely masculine laugh, and Nicaise can tell he’s somehow well-pleased. He cups the side of his boy’s face gently, and rubs his cheek reassuringly with his thumb. 

“Don’t worry, little doll. You don’t have to take the whole of it at once. We’re going to train you up to it, and you’ll like it, you’ll see. I’ll take such good care of you,” 

It’s a little hard to breathe, staring at the huge, wide length, and knowing Orlant means to fuck him in earnest. He swallows hard, and blinks again, slowly. 

Orlant shakes his head fondly. “It won’t be tonight either, dolly. We have plenty of time. Now, be a good boy and suck.” He pushes two thick fingers between his lips, and Nicaise sucks them obediently. He keeps his eyes on Orlant’s other hand, as he slowly works it over his cock in rhythm with Nicaise’s suckling of his fingers. 

His thick thigh is pushed between Nicaise’s own legs, and he can’t help but try to rub against it for just a little bit of friction. 

“You can come after I have,” Orlant says warmly, as his strokes quicken. Nicaise’s rutting quickens too, growing more needy and desperate. 

Orlant comes all over him, shooting thick splutters of release all over his thighs and stomach. His fingers are warm and thick between Nicaise’s lips, and his gaze is heated. He smiles the smile of a man who knows very well that he owns the body beneath him, as he does. 

“Let me help you, sweet doll,” Orlant murmurs. His hand, still wet with his own come slides over Nicaise’s little cock, pumping it rhythmically. He comes with a desperate noise silenced by the digits in his mouth, and only then does Orlant pull his hand out. 

“Good boy,” he says, and Nicaise flushes. “My good, pretty boy. Shall we sleep now? Would you like me to hold you?” 

Nicaise can’t find his voice just yet, so he nods. He has a thought to perhaps clean himself up first, but Orlant is faster than him, bunching up the red silk he’d discarded, and using it to wipe them both down. 

He slides off the sheets only to discard his trousers and boots, and then climbs back onto the mattres, pulling the down comforter on top of them. Immediately, the boy cuddles up into his side, pressing against his broad warmth eagerly, and Orlant chuckles, running a hand through his unruly curls, and making a soothing noise. 

The boy’s breathing evens out quickly, and Orlant’s own fall into dreams is soon to follow.


End file.
